Mad World
by deadheadwookie27
Summary: He is pissed off, and the reaper is on his side. Watch out past, he's coming for revenge. Time Travel: ManiDumble Weasley Bashing galore. HPHR
1. All Around Me

A new story that was inspired by the song Mad World. I have no idea where I am going with this haha

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**All around me are familiar faces **

The sky had clouded over and started to cry. Heavy buckets of grey tears poured down through his hair and onto his scalp. A piercing and terrified glaze encrusted both of his eyes; their colour obscured by the fury they held. His footsteps echoed in a syncopated rhythm as he made his way down the soppy sidewalk.

_Left. Right. Left. Right. Puddle, sidestepped. Left. Right. _

His cloak soaked up the rain like a sponge. It was heavy upon his shoulders. He didn't care in the least. His heavy, leather boots thrummed on the wet cobblestone. His jaw moved back and forth, slowly. The teeth in his mouth could be heard screaming for miles around.

Windows were decorated with flimsy pink and white paper and little hearts. He ignored it all. The door he was after was ahead. Not behind. Not to the side. Ahead. Straight ahead.

A car passed by in the street, splashing his legs with oily water from a puddle. He continued to walk.

Occasional couples walked hurriedly past him. He didn't think twice, not even once about them.

_The Leaky Cauldron_.

There was a warm light casted through the windows and into the street where he stood. The soft sound of pub music could be heard from the other side of that door. He opened it and walked into the smoky air of the tavern.

There were few tables open, plenty of people sat drinking and eating and conversing. He let the door slam and few looked up from their activities, though no eyes lingered long. He walked over to the bar and saw a young, stout man cleaning glasses. His red hair was long and messy. He looked up.

"Hello there, stranger. Can I help you?" He was a yank.

"What happened to Tom?" The man from the street asked; his voice cold and empty. A wide brimmed hat sat low on his forehead and a black bandana ran high on his face, leaving no view of his features.

The bartenders smile quickly fell into a sour frown. "My Uncle Tom passed a year ago." The stranger sighed.

"I'm sorry for your loss; it's been a long time since I've been here. Tom was a good man, helped me out a lot in his life time."

The bartender smiled again. "Thank you. I did love my Uncle Tom. He was a good man. Any friend of his is a friend of mine. Now, what can I get ya to drink, on the house." He put the glass and white cloth behind the counter, and leaned on two large and hairy knuckles.

"Thanks for the offer, but I am just here to… _talk_ to somebody." He turned from the bartender, who shrugged and went to turn the small television on, and scanned the room. There was a table with a group of Death Eaters who looked as if they were pumped full of muggle steroids. Each of them was trying to out-drink the others. Another table was the current seat to an old-time friend, who sat reading a paper and nursed a butterbeer.

There were tables with people he had known for years, or people he had seen very rarely and knew none of their names. There were muggles and wizards alike. The Death Eaters were becoming rambunctious. He figured that the sooner he got it over with, the better.

He'd seen the table since walking into the Leaky Cauldron. It was in the far corner of the establishment, hosting four people. The four sons-of-bitches that had ruined his life.

They were laughing and drinking. A pile of chicken bones sat on a tray, waiting to be carried off, by the one closest to him. He started to walk towards them.

Time slowed down as he neared. He counted them off, taking in each of their appearances, making him hate them even more. The one closest to him: Draco Malfoy. The silver haired git that tortured kids when he was younger. The greasy bastard that stood over _her_ while _she_ screamed for mercy or death, laughing.

The table became closer.

A woman with fire-red hair. Ginerva Weasley. Queen of seduction. Mega bitch. Years of crushing men's hearts between her petite and manicured fingers and toes, twisting their minds around her metaphorical sex-pole. She had cut _her_ over and over again, giggling like Bellatrix Lestrange, as _she_ bled.

A man sat hunched over a muggle newspaper, trying to figure out the last two words in the crossword he was doing. He stopped his pursuit for a moment. "Thirty-two down is serenade. Three across is fickle."

"Hey, thanks mister! That one's been…" The man looked around, but he had continued towards the table.

There was another woman. Cho Chang. A slut. She wasn't as seductive as the Weasley. She may have been smart, at one point, to be a Ravenclaw, but she had not an ounce of Slytherin in her. No cunning. She just dropped her shirt or fell to her knees to get what she wanted. She had tried to give him a go while they hurt _her_.

He was almost there.

The last person there. That was who he was after. The most jealous and insufferable dick on the planet. His red hair and annoying voice. Ronald Weasley, the son of a bitch who killed _her_.

His boots stopped thrumming against the wooden floor. He stood silently at the side of their table, waiting for them to notice. They were laughing and drinking, eating and drinking, drinking and drinking. Ronald and Cho looked as if they were going to make a child right there, already attached at the face. The other two were just rambling on and on. Draco was the first to look up.

"'Ello, 'ello? What 'appened to de pretty little thing with the perky ass?" He was smashed, trying to fondle the man standing above him in all black.

"Oi, Draco?" Ronald asked. "Who's he?"

Ginerva and Cho stared at the newcomer with a certain lust in their eyes.

Draco shrugged. "Dunno. But do bring us some more of these delightful hot chicken wings, put it on our bosses tab." He winked and made a small clicking noise with his mouth. The man still just stood there.

He spoke. "And who is your boss?" His voice sounded rough and angry. Draco and Ronald looked at each other.

"Who's our boss? What the hell are you, a moron? Where have you been for the past five years?" Ronald asked, sending Draco and Cho into a fit of drunken laughter. Ginerva, however, continued to stare at the mysterious man.

"Out of the country, Ronald." The two stopped laughing and Ron leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest and raising an eyebrow.

"So, you know of me?"

The man was silent. He tipped his hat up a small bit with a gloved hand, and Ginerva caught a glisten of his eyes. Her face said it all. Her eyes bulged from her head, she was sweating. Her upper lip curled almost over her nose as her bottom jaw trembled feverously. Blood slowly oozed from the corners of her mouth, she had bitten off a chunk of her tongue. The man turned to face her, pulling his hat back down over his eyes.

"No…" She whispered. "Anybody but you!" Her whispered word was lost upon the screams she now shouted.

"Ginny, what's wrong?" Draco asked the question everyone was wondering. The girl was against the back wall trying to claw her way into Diagon Alley. "Ginny!"

"Don't you see him! Don't you know who he is?" She franticly made a dive for her jacket, which the pocket held her wand.

The stranger threw his arm out. "No you don't." Ginerva flew through the air, kicking and screaming, and hit the back wall, hard. The crunch of her skull hitting stone caused a few of the customers to lose their meals and drinks over the tables. The man walked over to her non-moving corpse. He waved a hand over her, muttering _enervate_ under his breath. Ginerva awoke, still screaming and writhing around blindly. He smirked beneath the bandana and towards the table.

Draco was already standing, wand pointed at him, malice in his eyes. "_Avada-_" Draco stopped the curse. The man had disappeared. Everyone in the pub looked around. He wasn't seen.

"This is for her." Was whispered into Draco's ear. Before he could react, his neck was snapped and his body crumpled against the floor. Cho was screeching, people were flooding out of the Leaky Cauldron, he made his way to Ronald. The Weasley took Cho and bolted into Diagon Alley, leaving his sister convulsing on the floor. Before pursuing, he turned to the bartender.

"Sorry about the mess." The bartender could only nod before he left.

There were a lot of wizarding folk in the alley. He cut his way between them, pushing and gliding through the crowd. There were happy faces of lovers and parents, the melancholic faces of lonely ones. His face couldn't be seen. He just pushed through them; pursuing the ones that had destroyed his life.

Ronald and Cho sprinted through people, trying to make it to the safe house. It was on the far end of the alley, a large and glorious loft. Once there, they could call their master and get the help that they needed. Ronald had a killer headache, but he still wanted some from his betrothed. He'd get it and let the lesser's worry about the man. He didn't care that his sister was severely injured, nor his best friend was dead. He just wanted to get his dick wet.

Ronald felt a pull against his hand. Cho had stopped moving. The expression on her face was like that of a child who had just been yelled at and was about to cry. She looked like she was going to be sick.

"What are you doing! We have to keep going! Come on baby, I promise I'll make you feel better-once-we-get-there!" Ronald tried to yank her with him, but she just stood there, shaking her head and crying. He then noticed laced, black lines crisscrossing over her lips. She was shivering in the rain. "Not you too…" He whispered. She shook her head, tears cascading down her tanned cheeks. A muffled scream tried to break through her sealed face, but it was destroyed before birth.

Her body flung into the air and she thrashed about. People stood and stared at the strange spectacle. Cho shot through the sky to a wooden pole that had just appeared. Her back smacked roughly against it, as thorny vines constricted her to the large crucifix like pillar. Her skin broke out in tiny red blotches. People began to whisper, scream, and run to her aid.

The ground around her caved in and pungi pikes erupted from below. She was encompassed by a wall of death.

Cho's clothes were torn from her body, leaving her naked and exposed in the air. Her breasts bounced wildly as she thrashed about. Children's eyes were covered. Men stared with a sick hunger.

The skin on her stomach was ripped open in letters. A message was spelled into her flesh.

_WE ARE GUILTY_

The pillar ignited with fire, the blaze soon engulfed Cho's corpse. Her sown lips tore open, as she screamed in agony. "We did it! We killed her! Make it stop! Make it stop!" The crowd was stunned, but threw spells to put out the flames. Nothing worked quickly enough. Cho burned alive at the stake.

Ronald had run for his life when the fire started. He could hear his betrothed's screams, but it didn't matter. His master would protect him. He could find another woman to bear children with.

He sprinted through puddles and ducked into alleys, always watching for the man. On his fourth time ducking into an alley, he felt a sign of relief. There was no one behind him. It was short lived, the relief was. He soon found himself scratching and tearing at his throat. Something was choking him.

"Is this all you've got, Weasley?" Ronald's eyes scoured for the source. "You were always so naive." The man stepped into view. Rain drops exploded against the brim of his hat like bombs of water. Ronald still couldn't see his face. The man approached, his cloak flowing menacingly behind him. "You took from me the only thing that I cared about. You took my life. I'm taking something much more from you, you _bastard_." The man walked right up to Ronald and tore his hat and bandana off in a single, fluent motion.

"… Harry?" Ronald asked through a constricted windpipe.

The face of the man was stoic. There was a large scar that ran from his hair line, down the middle of a cloudy eye, and almost reached his chin. The other, non-clouded eye was emerald green. A chunk of his left ear, the same side of his head that donned the scar, was missing.

"Tell me, do you know what it's like to watch your soul be torn from your chest, Ronald?" Ronald shook his head 'no'. "Wouldn't have expected you to. When something that you _truly love_ is torn from your life, you lose your soul. That's exactly what _you _did to _me_, Ronald. Now, that's exactly what I am going to do to you."

"Harry," he choked out, "we can talk about this! She was going to betray you, we did you a favor!" His eyes were budging from their sockets his face was a nasty hemorrhoid purple colour.

In hindsight, it may not have been the best thing for poor Ronald to have said.

"**Doing me a favor!?**" The wall to the right of Ronald's head exploded. Harry's good eye grew dangerously dark. He was grinding his teeth and cracking his knuckles. Ronald winced inwardly. He could tell that he had royally fucked up.

"You were doing me a favor? You're a twat Ron, you always have been. You took Hermione from me. The only one that ever loved me. The only one that I ever loved. I'm going to kill you, don't try and stop me." And Harry did just that. He removed Ron's soul with the flick of his wand. The look of horror etched into the kinniving little shit's face didn't even touch the amount of anger Harry was feeling. He walked away from Diagon Alley madder than he had previously been. It was time to end it all.

***

Like it? Love it? Intrigued? Hated it? Let me know, please review.


	2. You Pick the PLace and Choose the Time

**A/N: Wow, didn't expect the success of this one. I'm glad you all enjoyed it. Thanks so much to those who reviewed! Reviews mean a lot to me, I don't know why... Just kind of takes me out of my shit-hole world and makes me feel good. So, here is chapter two. This is dedicated to a friend who I think needed it. Oh, and whoever tells me what song I altered the lyrics too for this chapter title wins a prize... OH!! One more thing, I swear! Certain things were brought up about the last chapter. The TV in the Cauldron was there because, as it comes into play later on in my story, American Wizard cultures, in my head, take a different aspect than the British ones. The new bartender was American so he had one there. Voldemort, as you'll see a little bit here, doesn't rule over all. He is still toying with people, so his DE's are on a bit of a covert leash.  
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**You Pick the Place and Choose the Time**

With a shot glass of whiskey and a cigarette in hand, Harry sat at his desk. The rain outside pattered down on the glass, persistent to break through the window. His good eye blankly stared through the panes and into his yard, slicing through the overcast light with ease. A flash of lightning lit the outside world in a violent array. Thunder rattled the lamp shade. It was nasty out in the world. It was even Nastier inside of his own head.

_Plop_.

He looked down into his glass and saw a ripple.

_Plop_.

Another ripple. Harry looked up to see if there was a hole in ceiling. There wasn't one. His face felt chilled though.

"Am I crying?" he asked himself. His voice stopped sounding odd to his own ears years ago. It was one of those simple comforts, talking to himself was.

His study was warm, the crackling fire roared on with brilliance. The red, Oriental rug looked no different than a large pool of blood. His couch was masked in flickering shadows, like a group of demon hoarders, waiting for him to do what he wanted to commit so much. They were all laughing at him, pointing and giggling maniacally at his sadness and insanity.

Over the years of mental and physical torture, Harry had developed a rather nasty habit of grinding his teeth when in straining situations. He did that as he practiced his other bad habit: smoking.

The demon laughter grew louder and louder. He bit through the filter and the tip of his tongue. The bitter taste of blood ran across his taste buds and down his throat. He choked and threw his shot glass through the window, screaming in anger. The rain danced with glee, finally gaining entrance into the home.

Harry got up without a word, shooting the chair backwards and toppling over. He stormed out of the room and into the gigantic hallway. The house, mansion actually, was one of his many estates. The goblins had alerted him of his true assets, the ones that Dumbledore had hidden from him.

He was the richest, poor man alive. None of it was worth it without Hermione.

He sauntered down the flight of stairs, glaring at the chandelier's blaze, and made his way into the living room. Another fire was burning in the larger hearth. A picture rested a top the shelf, one picture. It was him and Hermione, sitting together in the study at Grimmauld, laughing and cuddling. A large sob rolled up from his stomach and became stuck under his left breast. His heart, that's what it was. A broken Potter heart, sadly, could not be mended.

He fought the tears and silenced the howl of pain that threatened to break free from his heart. He looked at his gnarled and scarred hands. He was only twenty-one, but he looked like he was forty-eight. His face, still ruggedly handsome, drove most women crazy with desire. The muscles had built up over the years of living alone and training still paid off.

"Why'd you have to go, 'Mione?" He softly asked, rubbing a thumb across her face on the photo. Droplets exploded against the glass surface of the frame. A small whimper escaped, tearing down the rest of his walls. He clutched the picture against the pain in his chest, crumpling to the floor. He sobbed, crawled into a corner, and curled into a ball. The deadliest mage in existence was a shattered soul.

Dobby found him hours later, still in the corner. He was asleep, with tear marks down his face, shivering like a naked child would. The elf felt immense sorrow for his Master. He had been so lonely since Miss Hermione had been killed. No justice had been seen; Voldemort still wreaked havoc over the world. It wasn't the upfront slaughter that had been predicted though, he instead used little hit and run techniques to keep the wizarding population in suspense, just like he always had. Things were getting worse though. Dobby feared that his Master, no matter how powerful he was could not overcome the loss of his heart, and would not win against the Dark Lord.

Dobby levitated Harry up to his room and tucked him in.

"I's is sos sorry's Master Harry Potter. You's never gets any breaks anymore." The little elf whispered as he slipped out of the door.

***

_He sat on top of a hill, watching a valley turn different shades of orange, red, brown, and green. Harry was intoxicated with the vision, resting his back against the only tree around. The sky was a standard blue, a few puffy clouds flew by, and he felt… good. _

_A mountain range sat off in the distance. Its snow covered tops were a different colour blue than the sky. They towered up and up and up, out of Harry's line of sight. It was gorgeous._

_All of a sudden, a figure moved across the plain below. It limped slowly in a hunched position, taking a pause every now and then. Harry leaned forward and squinted, but still couldn't get a good view of what it was. However, it was making his way towards him. He'd wait and see what would happen. _

_A raven flew from the tree above him, squawking and soaring through the sky. It looped around in the breeze, so… freely. Harry watched with interest. It contrasted so nicely against the blue sky. It flew further away. When it reached about where the figure was, it dropped from the sky. Harry could hear it thump against the ground from his seat, it was like a gunshot rang out across the land._

_That's when he noticed something else. The land in which the figure had treaded was now colourless, just black and dead. There was no more grass on the ground and even the sky above seemed to have died. Everything behind the strange figure was dead. It was making great speed._

_Harry shrugged and turned around to the other side of the tree. The opposite direction was just as beautiful. He smiled for the first time in so very long, that his lips began to hurt. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the smooth bark. _

"_You must be Potter." A voice sounded from behind him. It was old and sickly. _

_Harry opened up his eyes and appraised the voice's owner with his good one. The man was short and wrinkly; a long grey beard symbolized his age. He wore a ragged cloak, riddled with holes and with mold. His eyes were black, pure ebony. _

"_Yeah, that's me." Harry responded. He settled back into the crook of the tree, ignoring the man and enjoying the wilderness. His head suddenly began to sink into the bark. He leaned forward and turned around. The tree was rotting. He could see the bark turn pulpy and grow a certain icky slime. _

"_Now that I have your attention," the man monotonously spoke, "you may want to actually _listen_, Potter."_

_Harry scowled up at the man. "What would I possibly want to hear? The only time I have felt happy since…" He trailed off as reality hit him. There was no peacefulness in the world. Even when it seemed that all was fine and that there was a certain tranquility to life, reality would set back in eventually. His soul was already gone. There was no happiness left in his life. _

"_Since your soul mate died? Yes, I know. That was a very hard thing to do." The man looked off into the distance, his black eyes glazed over, looking like two igneous rocks. _

_Harry slowly stood up, towering over the small man. "What do you mean by that?"_

"_I have had to do a lot of hard things in my time, break a lot of hearts. That one, however, I refused to comply with at first, couldn't watch you get broken again. I knew that you, boy, would never be the same. My advisors told me it had to be done. If I refused, I'd be tortured like Prometheus for the rest of existence." There was a sad expression that blanketed his face. "Each of us has a selfish side. I regretted my decision for years. That was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Not even taking your parents came close."_

_Harry stood and watched as the man spoke in riddles. His teeth were grinding again and his brow furrowed in annoyance. "What are you on about, old man?"_

_He turned and looked at Harry. "I. Am. Death." He poked Harry in the chest with a cane he had hidden under a haggard piece of cloak, as he spoke each word._

"_You?" Harry asked, pointing a finger at him. The man nodded. Harry was silent for a good time before he spoke again. "Thought you'd be taller."_

_The man chuckled slightly, it was bone chillingly hollow. "Not surprised, are you lad?"_

_Harry shrugged. "I don't get surprised anymore. I don't really care about too much. This isn't the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me either."_

"_Aye," he replied, nodding. "I am sorry, Potter. Like I said, it was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I've watched you closely, kind of like a guardian angel."_

_Harry laughed darkly. "Death is my guardian angel? Figures."_

"_In a sense. But, who better to have watching your back than death?" Harry stopped laughing. It did make sense. "Anyway, I have a proposition for you, if you'll hear it."_

_Harry shrugged. "Shoot. I got nothing to lose." Death smiled at him, a toothy grin that could make even Ragnok, the Master Goblin of Gringotts, envious. _

"_No, but you have everything to gain." The clap of thunder was heard off in the distance as a black cloud rolled furiously over the blue sky like wallpaper. The cloud lit with wrathfully in bursts of lightning. "Hm. Looks like someone doesn't want me here," Death muttered to himself. "Anyway, I'd like to send you back in time, to a day of my choosing, and have you live your life all over again. Make the same choices, don't make them, I don't care. My advisors might, but I sure as hell don't. You have suffered through too much hell to not be allowed a fair second chance."_

"_And this is possible?" Harry skeptically asked, an eyebrow raised slightly higher than the other. _

"_Yes, but I need to act quickly. Your appearance would change, of course. You would look just like you did on that day to which I send you. However, your features will come back. For a short time you'll be able to see out of that eye," he pointed to the blind one, "until an accident that will happen, happens."_

"_Bummer."_

"_You'll have to work your physique back up, but that shouldn't be that much of an issue, you were well trained." Harry smirked at the thought of his masters. "You can keep your knowledge and memories. Have to train most of your power back though. Nothing's changed in your identity, you just haven't been told about who you truly are, so you are entitled to all that you have now."_

"_Why are you offering me this?" The thunder clouds grew closer, lighting up even more violently than before. The soft breeze turned malicious and cruel. _

"_Nice guys need to win sometimes. Do you want it or not, Potter?" Harry looked at the man and back to the clouds. He thought hard and fast. Good outcomes played against bad ones. He sighed and ran a hand through his raven black hair. "I need an answer, now!"_

"_Do it." _

_Death smiled and pulled a revolver from underneath his ragged cloak. He told Harry to sit back against the rotten tree. The barrel was placed against his temple and he was told "Good Luck, Potter." There was a loud bang as a thousand screaming souls rushed at Death from the sky, Harry Potter's body flew into the rotting tree and disappeared._

_***_

His eyelids were too heavy to open. He felt a furious blaze upon his face. A hard, disgustingly stiff and odorous mattress lay underneath his body. A child laughed from far away, jumping through a sprinkler. He swore roughly and dug his head into the pillow under his head. He knew exactly where he was. Number 4 Privet Drive: House of the Dursley's.

Harry waited another twenty minutes before rising. He looked around, blinded at first by the nasty change in light, the tiny room. He had never wanted to go back, but there he was, sitting in his Uncle's house in Little Whinging, Surrey.

"God damn it."

"Boy!" His uncle hollered up the steps. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? This isn't your fancy little freak school! We want our breakfast, NOW!" Harry shook his head. He hated that fat walrus with a passion.

His eyesight was perfect; he hadn't needed his glasses in years. It was strange being able to see from both of them though, for he had also been blind in one eye for just as long as he didn't require those atrocious specks.

He stared at the back of his hands, feeling that unnerving edge of motion-sickness. It took most of his resolve not to vomit on the ugly tan rug. He noticed that the large gash he suffered from a dragon pup bite was gone. The calluses did not grace his finger tips and palms neither. He had what Master Ku'utay would have called "Wussy Hands". He sighed.

Harry knew that it was going to suck to rebuild his strength again. "This should be fun." Good god, he sounded like an angsty little teenager. He _was_ an angsty little teenager. Actually, he was in an angsty little teenager's body, not in actuality an angsty little teenager… It hurt his head to think about it. Time travel is a fickle thing.

"Boy! I'm not warning you again!" Harry remembered what Death had told him: "_Make the same choices, don't make them, I don't care._" He grinned. He was going to have a little fun with them.

First, he had to attempt something. With a wave of his hand he muttered, "_Wingardium Leviosa_." The chair he was pointing at didn't move. "Shit. Really didn't want to have to learn this again…" Wandless magic was one of those traits that were nasty to learn. It wasn't all in the technique; certain rituals had to be done. Painful, nasty, rituals. "Oh well."

"That's it you freak! I'm sick of you and your stubbornness!" Harry could hear his Uncle's footsteps heavily sounding up the stairs. His mind played back scenarios of when he could not defend himself. Times when he'd been thrown in the cupboard with broken bones or concussions. He snapped back to reality as the door flung open and his Uncle barged in.

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**A/N: Sorry, but you guys know I love cliffies! ;-) So... Love it, hate it, intrigued even more, turned off... turned on? leave me some love please!**


	3. The Path of the Righteous Man

Hi everybody! Sorry for the delay! Here is a new chapter for you all! Thanks for the love!

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The Path of the Righteous Man

He knew he should not have done it. Every fiber of his good conscience screamed and writhed against the opposition of want and lust to go through with it. The want was just too strong. The revenge had been oh so _sweet_.

His Uncle had pushed him. Pushed, and pushed, and pushed. The man did not know when to quit, and never would. And when he made the mistake of hitting a Potter, well, it was his final mistake. He was currently the size of a dime… in actuality, he was a dime. A dime of flesh, blood, and bones.

The bright pink lump of Vernon laid on the floor, motionless.

One of the perks about building up his magical core again was his very powerful, very unpredictable, accidental outbursts. His outbursts were not welcome, at a time. They had a tendency to get ugly. Once, after having a milkshake dropped on his head by a rowdy and rude group of Muggle teenagers in a shopping mall, the parking lot was somehow overrun with a horde of nasty garden gnomes, who seemed to enjoy the use steroids.

Having gotten the messy work out of the way, Harry began the clean up, but he couldn't forget the scream Vernon had made. It sounded like a cat stuck under a car tire, but with the power of an elephant's trumpet. The walrus of a man had been forced onto the ground, as if gravity was kicking his ass. His body was then flattened and folded until he was the size of a dime. Harry picked it up, quite heavy (as if it were a surprise), and put it in his pocket. He planned on using it later.

He waved his hand at the blood stain but nothing happened.

"Ah, no wandless. Forgot," he muttered to himself. He grabbed a pillow case and began to wipe the stain. The yellow sheet was so old it ripped at a constant rate: three wipes. Harry got annoyed very quickly and threw it off to the side. "Fuck it."

He took a quick looked around the room and grimaced. So many bad memories. He missed his and Hermione's house.

He did manage a smile, however. He was about to change everything. He left the room. Sauntering down the stairs, Harry came face to face with his Aunt Petunia.

"Where's your uncle?" She demanded, stomping a foot in some sort of lame, territorial threat. Harry chuckled.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes grew wide with disgust and fear. "My dear, dear Aunt Petunia," he started, leaning in closer with each word. "Vernon pushed one too many of my wrong buttons. You of all people should know never to speak ill of a Potter's love." Dudley came into the room.

"Mum, when is that freak…" He looked at the exchange and the face his mother wore. "Get away from her, Potty!" He bull rushed Harry.

Harry sighed. "No, please, don't hurt me Dudley," he mockingly feigned fear. Dudley took a step and swung with his right arm, putting all his weight behind it for a knock-out punch.

Harry simply spun behind his Aunt, creating a barrier between him and the meaty fist approaching. The bones in her horse face crunched and her body hit the floor. Dudley stood over his dear "mumsies" with a lost expression. "Mum?"

"Oi, Dudders." Dudley looked up as the coat rack was brought across his mouth. He spun violently and went down with a thunderous clash. Picture frames fell off the wall, the chandelier rattled and jangled. The heavy resonation wove its way around a specific crack in the wall. Harry thought he heard a car alarm going off. "Damn, always wondered what that would sound like." Harry shrugged and stepped over the unconscious duo.

He went about the morning, actually eating a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast, and read the post. July 16th 1995.

The fork slowly went back to his plate. "So Cedric's dead still, Voldemort's alive, and I'm fifteen. There is no way in hell, I'm saving Dudley's ass from those dementors again."

Harry left the plates and scraps on the table, his Aunt could pick up after him for once. He decided a nice shower was in order. He did just that.

It was nice, being able to shower without the threats of beatings and imprisonment. After he was done, and had made sure that he had used every last drop of shampoo, Harry assessed his fifteen year old figure in the mirror.

The scars from his Uncle's tirades were there, but those he had honourably earned were gone. Hopefully Death hadn't lied, they would be back. His fingers stroked the cheek where his scar had been. He'd lose the use of that particular eye again.

A window crashed in his room. Harry, the old, actual fifteen year old Harry, would have ran into the room and, most likely, have been vaporized. But this Harry, the current Harry, slowly walked out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel around his waist, and leaned against the door frame.

Standing in the room was a large figure made from rocks. It was hunched over, leaning down to see what was under Harry's bed. Growing quickly annoyed with it, the thing grasped the wooden frame, merely breaking it in two, and flipped the bed. It grunted when it found nothing.

"Oi, big fella," Harry said, stepping further into the room. The thing turned to face him. It was larger than Harry had initially thought. Its chest had to be at least three feet long, engraved with coarse looking stone, standing at a great nine foot height. Harry was quite surprised it could actually fit into the room.

It roared, spewing dust and gravel from its large mouth, and swung a large, heavy fist at Harry. It wasn't hard to dodge it. Harry simply stepped to the side and watched the ball of rock rip through the door-frame. As the dust cleared, Harry watched as the thing moaned in annoyance and swung again.

Harry ducked and grabbed a pair of underwear lying on the ground. If he had to bail, he didn't want anyone to see what lie beneath the clothing of Harry James Potter. But, somewhere in mid stride, the stone goliath changed the angle of the massive swing, and clasped both hands together, bringing them down in a powerful swing onto Harry's leg.

They both heard the bone snap. But, the creature took a falsified confidence in the blow and did not follow up with another onslaught of blows. Harry grabbed the iron bar of Hedwig's cage and brought it across the monsters jaw. It reeled back howling like a foghorn. Harry pushed himself off the ground with both hands and the one leg, tackling the thing through the wall.

They hit the landing right above the stairs and separated. Harry used the wall for support, not put any pressure on his leg. The creature took longer to stand, grinding its jaw back and forth. Dust fell from the face. Harry realized that maybe he wasn't up to speed in his new body. His realization came too late, for the small vanity that rested in an unused corner was flying through the air at him.

He got down low and rolled himself across the floor towards the stairs. The thing reached for his broken leg, but Harry managed to kick it in the face. The offset balance caused both Potter and creature to tumble down the stairs, Harry reaching the bottom while the creature fell clean into the cupboard.

It was a shame that the creature didn't make it to the bottom of the stairs, for it would have crushed Harry's comatose aunt and cousin.

Harry reached over Dudley and grabbed the coat rack that lay off to the side. He used it as a crutch to stand and limp across the floor into the living room. A chill encased his chin. He wiped off blood. He felt around and found his lower lip spilt down the middle.

The grumbling signified that the beast was still coherent. Certainly not dead. Certainly able to fight. More than able to kill.

Harry heard the heavy footfalls and the groaning of the supports in the cupboard. The walls exploded into a cloud of white plaster and dust as the thing came forth. He hadn't expected it to use a door.

He racked the recesses of his brain for any information as to what the creature was. Any way he could kill it. Anything. His wand was up in the room so that was out of the question.

"What the hell are you?" he asked. Brash, yes. Simple, yes.

"_Guuuaappp_," it said in a low moan.

Pointless, yes.

It crouched down and slowly rocked back and forth, balancing itself.

"Oh no."

The creature let out a war-groan and charged. Harry put all his weight on the good leg, flipped the make-shift crutch, and screamed himself, preparing to go down swinging.

"_Guuuaappp_! _Klaatu barada nikto_!" a voice called from the kitchen. The big rock beast stopped in mid charge, stood up straight, and did not move. Harry glanced towards the kitchen but didn't let his guard down.

He slowly limped over to the beast and snapped his fingers in front of its eyes.

"He won't hurt you," the voice called again.

Harry slowly turned around and went towards the kitchen door. He could hear a newspaper turning on the other side and somebody muttering.

"Wizard and muggle folk alike, neither of them get it. Bloody morons mortals are."

Upon opening the door, Harry was met with the sight of a tall, slender man with pale-blue skin and dark purple hair sitting at the table. He had long ears and wore a green military jacket. His hair ran down his back and was tied off in a neat pony tail. There were badges sown into the jacket and pins ran along his chest. He tapped heavy leather boots on the tile floor and shifted comfortably in a pair of torn blue jeans. He sipped at a cup of tea. He did not look up from the paper as he began speaking.

"Hello, Harry. Nice to finally meet you in person. Did you enjoy meeting Death?"

"Who are you? How did you know that I met Death?"

The pointy eared man chuckled as he folded the newspaper into a neat square, setting it off to the side. He folded his slender fingers into each other and rested his arms on the table, leaning forward and shifting slightly. He finally looked at Harry, and Harry saw the greyest eyes he had ever seen.

"Have you ever wondered," he began, "who tells death to kill certain people?"

Harry leaned against the refrigerator. "So you're saying that you are the boss of death?"

The man smiled and laughed. "Oh heavens no! No, no, no."

"So then who the hell are you?"

"My name is Todd. I am a Drow. My esteemed companion that you met is Guuuaappp, he is a Golem."

"Damn!" Harry said. He couldn't believe that he didn't remember his creature training.

Todd smirked. "Yes, I'm quite impressed that you fought off a Golem of Guuuaappp's caliber. He has killed far more impressive specimens than yourself."

It was Harry's turn to smirk. "Yeah, I kind of have a thing for escaping death." His expression grew serious. "May I ask why you are here and who the hell you are?"

Todd grew a bit more serious as well, sitting upright in his chair. "I was hired by the beings that own death, to kill you."


End file.
